


Dreamers

by Aithilin



Series: Dreamwalkers of Eos [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dreams, Dreamwalking, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-19 00:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11301615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Nyx serves a god of dreams; he's been sent to help an injured prince find his way back to the waking world.





	1. The Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JazzRaft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/gifts).



“So say that you’re right,” Noct said, playing with the phone that had been handed to him what seemed like just hours ago. The man assured him that it had been weeks, that their short visits actually lasted hours. “I’m in a coma and this is all a dream. Why should I trust you?”

He remembered Nyx from the Kingsglaive, from patrols and parades and stories of heroics. He remembered seeing the man standing at attention for official inspections in decorated uniforms and with just a hint of a smirk on his features. He wasn’t used to seeing the man like this, sitting on the other end of his bed while a storm rattled the glass windows around them.

He wasn’t used to seeing the man in a t-shirt and jeans, his own phone in his hands, those exotic braids catching the lightning. He wasn’t used to someone just showing up and handing him a phone and being comfortable enough to shrug off his questions. “It’s probably smarter not to trust me.”

Noct avoided looking at the windows as the storm raged, as the lights flickered. He had always hated storms; being in the Citadel always felt like he was trapped in the middle of them. It was easier to focus on the Glaive in front of him, sitting on his blankets, smiling at him like he knew all the secrets of the world. Like he didn’t see the faces and claws and fangs at the window, cutting through the clouds like beasts.

“So why are you here?”

The lights flickered again, clicking in the sockets before staying off. Noct felt his breath catch in his throat in panic at the sudden darkness. He drew his knees up, still half covered by the heavy, familiar blankets, suddenly aware of the chill in the room. Somewhere in the hall a window shattered and the gust of cold, wet air curled around his heavy bedroom door and pulled it close.

He could see the shadows seeping in with the water. He could hear the tapping of claws against his own windows. The rattle of growls in the thunder. The beat of wings in the wind.

Nyx smiled as he unlocked the phone in his hand, undisturbed by the creeping shadows around them. “Have you actually seen what’s on these phones? I swear you get better features in your head. Better reception, too.”

“What?”

“I’m not kidding, little star. You should take a look.”

“At a phone.”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Would you rather run from scary monsters? Because that sounds exhausting, and I have recruits to test in the morning,” Nyx reached over and unlocked the phone Noct had set down when he was started by the storm; “here, play a round of King’s Knight with me.”

“You’re serious about this.”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“You keep asking that, little star. You should stop.”

Noct paused, the question on his lips again. He saw the expectation in Nyx’s features, the amusement in the smirk. He almost missed the crack of thunder and the rattle of it against his windows as he sulked, finally taking the phone back to see the game and challenger. “Fine. One round.”

The Glaive moved to get comfortable again, boots up on the blankets, still grinning as he started the game. “What do I get if I win?”

“Bragging rights.”

“That’s hardly fair. There might not be proof of my victory when I wake up.”

“That’s your fault.”

“How about a kiss?”

Noct stared at the Glaive in shock, “what?”

“A kiss. It’s your go, your highness,” Nyx was still grinning, still smirking in the light of his phone. “You never know, it might wake you up.”

“This isn’t a damned fairy tale, you idiot,” Noct focused on the game— on the bright colours and shining icons, on the rising scores and lowering health of the challenger on his screen.

“I don’t know about that. What do you want if you win?”

“I am winning.”

“So what do you want? An explanation? Because I can go over the situation again.”

Noct paused the game— a new feature, because he didn’t remember that trick when he played against Prompto and Gladio— and looked Nyx over. He had heard the story both ways: the little Galahdian god of dreams had sent Nyx to him to wake him up. He knew that he was hurt, that the treaty signing had been a trap, that he had been caught in the crossfire protecting his dad. He could remember that— the sting and burn of flames and bullets, the shields thrown up and his father’s Armiger called into being in the chaos.

He remembered that.

It was just the aftermath he had trouble with. Nyx said that he was sleeping— dreaming— and that Carbuncle couldn’t quite reach him yet. But Nyx could. Nyx was trained for this— trained to serve the ancient little god in these strange tasks.

And now Nyx was sitting on his bed, challenging him to a mobile game in the middle of a storm. Now Nyx was smiling and talking about kisses and dreams and phones.

“A kiss.”

It didn’t hurt to try.


	2. Throne Room

Noctis had always hated the reception rooms leading to his father's throne. He had always hated the paintings of some obscure prophecy, of king's long dead he couldn't even remember learning about. He had always hated that he would sit on the stiff couches with Ignis while servants promises ’just a few more moments’ as he watched the Lucian nobility spend more time with his father than he did. He had always hated how everything was perfectly groomed, maintained, and not meant for small hands. 

He supposed it was a sure sign that he was dreaming if he could just walk through the waiting rooms and into the grand hall of the throne room. 

Now, in the ornate halls and beneath the grand, vaulted ceiling, he could hear his footsteps echo in the darkness. He knew the steps to the throne well, he had stood by his father’s side as a Niflheim emissary proposed a treaty. He had climbed them when he was young, smiling and eager to stand at the place of honour by his father’s side. He had played on the steps under the watchful eyes of Cor and Clarus as his father laughed with him. 

He was used to the room being filled with life, with noise and activity and his father’s presence. 

The empty throne before him was far more terrifying than the clawing, growling, seeping creatures moving through the shadows. 

Light still broke through the coloured windows and sparked against the gilded accents around the room. The golds and silvers set into dark marble and granite brought to life in the storm still raging outside. In some of the flashes, as they shattered the dark around him, he could see what almost was— or what still could be. 

Stone lay shattered around the empty throne— whole portions of wall and window brought in on itself like a crumbling ruin. He caught glimpses of blood on the steps, of chains strung from the ceiling, of bodies littering the floor around him. Of his father’s sword embedded in the throne. He almost preferred the vision of ruin— of stepping around the bodies of guards and Glaives, of broken glass and crumbling stone, and blood on the throne— to the emptiness he was faced with. 

Here, like this, he was alone. And the weight of it was crushing. The storm and daemons and threat of the darkness closing in was almost muted compared to his footsteps forward.

“Just a vision, dear prince, just a vision.”

The voice came from the shadows to his side, from where the dark seemed liquid and living and clung to the man stepping forward. The memory of the man mixed with the vision of him here, now, and Noct frowned in confusion. 

“Chancellor.”

“Please, call me Ardyn.”

“Why would I be dreaming about you?”

“Why indeed,” the man bowed, smiled, and stepped towards the throne. The shadows still clung to him like a silken trail. “I would be flattered, Prince Noctis, if this was merely a dream, and not a visitation.”

“What are you talking about?”

When Ardyn turned to face him, a few steps ahead, his back to the throne, Noct caught a glimpse of something monstrous in his place. Something seeping and growling and growing in the world of ruin around them. And just as quickly, like the other visions, it was gone. And all that was left was the kind smile and sad eyes, and a hand extended to him. 

“A visit, Prince, to guide you to the waking world again. To avoid these dreadful visions from coming to life.”

“Like Nyx.”

For a moment, the man's eyes hardened, “Is that the interloper’s name? I suppose so, then. The dreams and mind of a prince are valuable things, dear Noctis. You hold more power than you might realise.”

Noct stepped back from the man, “And you serve Niflheim.”

“My dear,” the growl to Ardyn’s voice shocked Noct as the shadows closed around them, closer, seeping across the floor like water. And in another flash of light from the storm outside, it was gone. And it was just the strange man with a smile standing before him again; “I serve the Six. And the people of Lucis.”

A hand lifted, and the shadows were driven back to the edges of the room. Noct could feel the power in the man, in the simple gesture. “Please, Prince Noctis, allow me to explain?”

“You were part of the attack.”

“Was I? I simply delivered a message, terms of a treaty. I was there to offer peace, young prince.”

From what he remembered of the signing and the ceremony, Noct couldn't recall if he had seen the chancellor at the ceremony. He remembered the blasts and the fires and the guards being cut down as he moved to strike the gun from the Emperor’s hand. He remembered the shot and the shields, and his father's arms around him just as much as Clarus and Gladio forcing them to safety. But he didn't remember who had stood with the Emperor in the chaos. 

Noct drew himself up, refused to be taken in by the smile and words, and crossed his arms. “Fine. So how do I wake up?”

“You simply accept your fate.”

“My fate?” The chime from his hip interrupted any response. Noct almost laughed at the indignant look that earned him from Ardyn. He tried to school his features as he pulled the phone Nyx had given him from his pocket. “Excuse me, chancellor.”

A familiar emoji greeted him from the lock screen, and the sight of Nyx’s name was almost a relief. The man appeared in full Glaive uniform, phone in his hand, but a blade at his hip. “Apologies for interrupting, your highness.”

Noct recognised the smirk, that bravado and flair. He had seen Nyx offer the same smirk as he cut down the MTs that had blocked their way to safety— as he had helped Clarus direct the Crownsguard in the chaos. He knew when the Glaive was ready for a fight. 

“No interruption, Nyx. I think we’re done here.”

Ardyn offered a bow, his smile still firmly in place; “The I bid you sweet dreams, Prince Noctis.”

Nyx turned them around, a hand on the small of Noct’s back to guide him through the parting shadows and to the doorway. The Glaive leaned in to mutter, “Don’t look back, little star.”

“Just how many of you are there?”

“He’s not supposed to be here.”


	3. Kitchens

“What exactly is going on, hero?”

Noctis hadn't been in the Citadel kitchens since he was fifteen. The last time he sat at the little table tucked away in the niche that looked over the workspace, the kitchen had been very much alive. Ignis had always told him that the place was practically a living creature, or a battleground, where every menial task was a part of a greater whole. A world separated from the rest of the Citadel, where if one person faltered or failed, all progress could be set back several steps.

He mostly just remembered watching his friend move about their little sequestered space, largely ignored by the regular staff as he had been granted special permissions to work. He remembered the steam and heat and the prevalent sweetness of the air. He remembered the way flavour hung thick between them, where the promise of a menu decided weeks in advance was already being brought to life. 

He remembered the set of rooms as warm, bustling centres of activity and shouting and the firm reminder that he was to stay out of the way. He remembered watching the chef command with all the authority of a king; the shouts, the orders, the easy dismissals among the chaos. He could recall Ignis staying close to him, working in his little gifted corner with what meagre supplies his friend had picked up on his own. The clouds of flour, steam, the heat— it had been years, but Noct could still picture it all. He could still picture the perfect little treats Iggy had produced as the talked, as he was drilled over school work and court duties. He could still picture every scrap stolen before the food was ready, and the exasperated sigh it earned him. He remembered Iggy flicking sugar at him in admonishment, and laughing as his friend slipped him pieces to sample anyway.

He didn't remember the spices. 

And it was strange to see the rooms so quiet and still. 

“I thought you were sick of explanations, little prince?”

Nyx moved through the kitchen like he was born to it. It transformed around him, from the Citadel marble and chrome to the more rustic, cheaper building materials Noct assumed were more common. He supposed he knew that Nyx could cook on some level, the man was an adult and living presumably well. Surviving at least. There had to be some sense of self-preservation in the Glaive.

“I'm sick of hearing about how I'm stuck in my own head. How do I get home?” Noct watched as a Nyx worked, tried not to wonder when he last ate as spices sizzled. As steam from a pan carried an exotic flavour through the empty kitchens. “Can you actually cook?”

“Mostly,” Nyx grinned at him. The uniform was gone, the battle armour cast aside for the more casual jeans and shirt Noct was becoming familiar with. The knives remained— one having been left within Noct’s easy reach on the table. “Should I cook for you when you wake up?”

“I thought you said that I shouldn't trust you.”

“If I wanted to kill you, little star, I wouldn't be here now,” Nyx was still smiling. As he moved plates and pots and cutlery, he still offered that wolfish grin. “My job is to get you back to your dad; if I'm not doing that, don't trust me.”

“And right now you're cooking.”

“It's helping,” Nyx offered, cutting meat Noct hadn't noticed before; “a good home cooked meal, right?”

“Dad doesn't cook.”

“He wouldn't.”

“And that's not Lucian food.”

“Not in the least.”

“Then how is it helping?”

“Good question,” the meat sizzled in the pan, and Noct was reminded again of the kitchens he remembered. He was reminded of Iggy moving through the kitchen in his apartment afterwards, far more at ease and far more in control. 

In a moment, the Citadel kitchens changed around him. He was no longer at the tiny table shoved into a corner for a quick break, sheltered in the dark stone, windowless rooms he remembered. He was at the wide table in his apartment, beneath the brighter lights and warmer colours, watching Nyx move around his apartment kitchen with the same finesse and determination. With the same strangely intimate knowledge of what was in the cupboards and drawers and fridge. The storm still raged outside the wide windows, but seemed less threatening now that he was in his own home. 

For a moment, Noct almost expected Ignis to come in and reclaim his kingdom. To huff and kick Nyx out of his space with an admonishment for wasting spice and meat and the few resources he had control of. 

When Nyx paused, it was with a bowl of chopped vegetables in his hand. He stopped midstep to look around and nod in satisfaction. He seemed to relax st the sight of the wide windows and warmth of the place, taking a deep breath before he set back to work. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“It's just my apartment.”

“This is good, little prince.”

“Are you ever going to tell me what's happening to me?”

The vegetables released a new cloud of steam around Nyx, and the Glaive stirred the mix of meat and greens and spices as he spoke again; “Short answer is that you're dying.”

“And the long answer?”

“You're a battleground. I'm here because my god likes you—”

“Carbuncle.”

“That's the one. You're a foreign prince with a night-calling name, and a surprisingly rebellious father. That sort of thing draws attention,” Nyx started plating food while it still steamed and sizzled; “So my little god of dreams likes you, and wants to see you live and help people who need it.”

“And the enemy?” Noct paused at the sight of the unfamiliar foods. He could smell the scent of it, taste the spices, feel the heat of it already. “Can I even eat this?”

“Food for thought, little star,” Nyx set the plates down, collected cutlery, drinks. Noct didn't register any of the movement before Nyx was sitting next to him at the table; “And the enemy isn't so much an enemy as your own blood.”

“I don't understand.”

“You're fated to save the world, little prince. You just get to choose how.”


	4. Dining Room

“What happened the last time you had to do this?”

“What do you mean, hero?”

The storm had finally let up a little. The rain still beat against the tall windows of the royal apartments, and the windows still rattled with the force of the winds so high above the city, but it wasn’t the maelstrom from earlier. The storm wasn’t the endless shadows and fangs and threats of daemons trying to break through the stone walls that it had been. It was no longer the assault of liquid darkness clinging to every footstep and doorway that should have been familiar. Now, if he looked out at the mess of rain and winds and steel grey clouds, Noct could see the shimmer of the Wall behind it all. Now, if he listened, he could hear the steady thrum and pulse of the Crystal locked away like a treasure. 

“The last time you met Carbuncle, what did you do? Where were you?”

The dining rooms were open and airy, despite usually hosting only himself and his father. They still had the tall windows that let in the shine of the Wall and sun most days. Noct had never thought to sit on the table itself before, but he figured that the old rules didn’t apply if he was dreaming. If there was no reason to worry about propriety or a mess or his father’s disapproval and Clarus’ scolding, Noct had started to learn that he had some control over the shape of the place, over the way the light shone and the warmth of his childhood home, his future home. 

“A forest. I was lost in a forest for a while.”

“When have you ever been to a forest?”

“Never,” Noct paused, legs crossed as he sat near the edge of the long table, hands busy playing with the kukri Nyx had left him; “I don’t think.”

The Glaive was settled in one of the stiff chairs, leaning back until the thing nearly tipped. His booted feet were on the table, a discarded bag holding the remnants of their meal already shoved out of arm’s reach. Noct didn’t know where Nyx got the food, but he had been amused enough that there was street food in dreams— Galahdian street food, with its ghosting spices and that lingering burn of aftertaste Noct didn’t want to wash away with the soda at his hip. He’d need to try it for real when he woke up. 

“So a forest,” Nyx nodded, eyes searching Noct for something Noct wished he could understand— answers he could find and give. “Then what?”

“Dad’s study. I think it was. I was really small.”

“You were a kid.”

“No, it was like being a toy,” he couldn’t keep the smile from his face as he remembered that dream— of exploring the huge room and climbing the mountain of toys and books and fighting back shadows as he followed Carbuncle up to a tunnel he vaguely remembered making the morning before the trip out to the coast. “I climbed things, went through a tunnel. I remember following Carbuncle around, trying to grab his tail.”

“Cute,” Nyx was grinning. His phone was in his hands, an extra light in the room despite the sun peeking through the clouds and the moving light of the Wall casting a golden wash over everything in the grey room; “What else?”

“Is this helping?”

“Storm’s stopped. You’re doing great.”

“What does the storm have to do with me? It’s just—”

“A dream,” Nyx was still smiling, and Noct was starting to see him more clearly— the braids, the tattoos, like he was coming into a better focus. Becoming more real despite the strangeness of sharing a meal of foreign street foods in a royal dining room, while sitting on the ancient table where he had his first lessons in meal etiquette years ago. “Storms usually mean pain, sunshine. Your storm is letting up, your pain is starting to be manageable.”

Noct shifted, stretched his legs until they hung off the table. “Great, it’s only been how long?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Three weeks, almost four.”

“Right.”

“You asked, your highness.”

“Yeah… Is everyone okay?”

Nyx seemed to consider that question. He straightened in the chair, reached forward for the drink by Noct’s hip; “The King is alive, and well for the most part. Your Shield kid hates me.”

“Gladio doesn’t hate anyone.”

“I’m sure he’s made the exception,” Nyx offered a grin. He had stood guard at the hospital room for most of the time since the attack; had watched the Shield settle with a book in one of the uncomfortable chairs, had felt the kid’s eyes on him every so often. They had yet to exchange more than a dozen words, but Nyx knew when he was just being tolerated. They both had an invested interest in the prince they were protecting in that room. “Your friend with the glasses is a bit more polite.”

“Iggy, yeah. What about Prompto? He wouldn’t have been at the ceremony—”

“Short kid? Lots of energy? He’s fine. Comes by when I’m standing duty,” they all had, really. The prince’s little entourage, his friends. Ignis, like Gladio, would just settle at Noct’s side with a book or notebook or newspaper. He’d speak quietly with Gladio at times, usually when the vigils started or their shifts changed; but they were both quiet, protective guardians for the most part. Nyx much preferred Prompto. 

That kid had settled at Noct’s side— careful of machines and wires and equipment keeping the prince alive— and would just not shut up. Nyx loved it. He loved hearing about the everyday things Prompto seemed to like talking about— the way the city was still locked down, the news, the disaster, the Nifs’ retreat after the failed attack. He loved hearing about the strangely normal things the kid seemed to think the prince would be interested in— games, card tricks, movies, comics, all the things a normal young man would have an interest in. Nyx loved the way his first few hours having met Prompto; the kid had leaned in to the sleeping prince with his eyes still on the Glaive, and muttered ‘your guard is really hot, dude. You have got to wake up to see this.’

“I like Prompto, he’s a good kid. Comes by to talk at you most days.”

The small smile from Noct was worth the update, the warmth from the prince, the relief at knowing his friends and family had made it through. The prince nodded, shoulders relaxed, hands still despite the borrowed knife in them. “I wish I could talk to them. Let them know I’m bored out of my mind.”

“You could try texting them.”

“What?”

“I mean it. Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve seen.”

“But—”

“Trust me, little prince, give it a try when you’re bored,” Nyx lifted his phone as if it was an example; “Start with me, if you aren’t sure.”

“It can’t be that easy,” Noct set the kukri aside and pulled the familiar phone out of his pocket. 

“Says the kid with magical powers and a royal lineage. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work. If it does, you have another connection to the real world.”

“Right…”

The Glaive offered a shrug and stretched as he stood, boots scraping along the table in defiance of the quiet in the room, chair scraping against the floor as he pushed away. “What woke you up last time, anyway?”

Outside the rain was still streaming down the windows like a waterfall— and Noct could remember the strange city of water with its walls of water in the distance. He could remember dreaming about a city he had only ever heard of from his dad’s stories, and the strange peace it had brought as he remembered hours’ worth of bedtime stories before his dad was too busy to spend time with him. He remembered the little creature sending him texts on a too-big phone as it followed him around as he searched for the safe space to bring him home. “The Regalia. Dad’s car. I had to find it.”

“Think it’d work this time?”

“I’m not a child anymore. A car isn’t going to keep me safe.”

“Your dad will, though. Maybe it’s him you need to find.”


	5. Halls of History

Things had certainly changed from when he was a child. Noct remembered the first dreams after the daemon attack— before he had met the little Carbuncle, before he had started that little adventure in his own dreams— when he was lost and wandering the dark, thick forest and hearing the creatures lurking in the shadows. He remembered what it was to feel that lost and alone, and convinced that he would never find his father again, that he would never escape the image of bodies and daemons and blood-soaked mud again. He remembered what it was like to feel small and alone, and to see the towering trees closing in around him. 

He had never thought he would feel like that in Insomnia. 

He never thought that he would see the streets empty, the lights in the buildings dark, the cars and bicycles parked and unmoving for days beneath the shimmer of the Wall. He never thought that the press of the towering buildings and the stretch of streets and alleys around him— the streets and avenues dark once outside of the glitter of the Citadel— would seem so threatening. So foreign and strange. So unlike his home. 

When he was a child, he remembered the giant buttons on the ground— the ones that changed the time of day or the weather, the ones that called the visiting Astrals like Titan and Leviathan, the ones that changed him as he chased after a new friend through an ever changing world. He remembered the wonder of it all afterwards, the feeling of progress and adventure and freedom as he raced through his own dreamscapes with a toy sword and fireworks in his hands. He remembered fighting monsters beneath tables and in the shadows of books— creatures he had seen running wild before he was attacked by a real monster— and how they disappeared like magic tricks in puffs of dark smoke. 

Now there were creatures that were far bigger, far more threatening, clinging to the shadows in the empty streets. 

He had ventured as far as the gates, wondering if it was possible to simply walk the few blocks to his apartment. If he could simply ignore the dark shapes and endless shadows engulfing the buildings, and manage his way home. He had gotten as far as the gates, and the monsters seemed to be waiting for him just beyond. He could see them, unlike the beasts he was used to— they were malformed, caught between beast and daemon. 

Even with the shimmer of the Wall above them, the creatures still moved through the empty city. The rain-slicked roads and buildings, the clouds moving overhead, seemed to echo with the growls and howls and promises of sharp claws and sharper teeth. 

“That way lies a certain death, dear prince.”

“Back again, Chancellor?” Noct refused to look at him, remembered the liquid shadows that had clung to the man, remembered the vision of ruin he had stood in. 

The man stepped up to him, stopped at his side to face the creatures shying away from the gates to the Citadel; “Such a strange mind you have— all these daemons and dark creatures roaming so freely.”

“You think I’d do this?”

“It’s your head, is it not?” Noct could hear the smirk in the man’s voice, the drip of the shadow from it. “Surely you’d rather be somewhere much safer? Away from the dreadful creatures of these nightmares.”

“You said there’s death that way.”

“Yes, those sorts of claws do draw a sense of foreboding don’t they?”

“What did you mean?”

“Simply suggesting that you may find safety through other routes, highness. I’m sure your father is waiting for you.”

Noct turned to face the man to find him no longer at his side. There was no trail of the chancellor to follow, no whisper of movement before he had simply vanished. The growls from the street, from the sky, followed him back towards the Citadel doors— back towards the safety of the lights and the reminder that the Crystal still shone brightly overhead. For a moment, he saw what must have been the effects of the blast that had started the chaos at the steps— the stone cracked and smeared with the burnt blood of those who had both opposed the treaty and those who had tried to protect the heart of the Crown City. He didn’t know how close they had gotten to the doors.

Once between the statues of some lost goddess that flanked the doorway, Noct pulled out the phone that Nyx had given him, the sense of a line to the man who seemed to come and go as he pleased. Who never made the world seem this dark, or ruined. He hesitated at the lock screen before checking the list of contacts for Nyx’s name. 

_Hero, I have a visitor._

He wasn’t a coward, he knew that. But he had been raised with a friendly warrior at his back. And there was no Gladio here, waiting with a smile and a greatsword to push him away from danger or watch his back. It was unsettling to not feel that strength at his side, the heavy hand to his shoulder and the reminder to ‘stop bitching and get moving.’ He knew what Gladio would do in this situation, he knew that a sword would be in his hand and that he would be followed step-for-step to one of the many safe rooms in the Citadel, that the Crownsguard would be called in to position only after he was secured. 

Where was Gladio when he needed him?

Noct stepped through the familiar doors and into the open receptions meant more for tourists than for his family. The door to the Halls of history had been left open, and he could hear the footseps echoing down the long hallways of portraits and artifacts of long dead kings. His phone was silent in his hand as he followed. 

“Tell me, Noctis,” Ardyn stood in front of the portraits, studying the strokes and brushwork of masters that had trained for decades just to restore the ancient pieces; “What do you know of the Lucis Caelum line?”

“What do you want?”

He could practically feel the air shift with the disappointed sigh; “No sense for propriety or history, I see. How far the kings have fallen since my day.”

“If you’re just going to—”

“A bargain, dear prince. An offer of fate, is what I’m here for, and a reminder of the gods your line is sworn to serve,” Ardyn stepped, knowing the route as if he had been the one to live in the place his whole life, not Noct. Noctis could remember the basic layout of the portraits, the recovered Royal Arms above them, the plaques interrupting the rows of faces and names with history of deeds and battles and accomplishments. “All of these men and women had promised their lives to the Crystal, and all they got in return was death.”

“What’s your point chancellor?” Noct turned his phone over in his hand, hoping for the telltale buzz and chime of a new message in. 

“My point, dear prince,” he caught sight of a ring on the man’s hand— familiar, glittering shards of Crystal in a dark band— as he gestured to one of the portraits; “you’re next.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise, unless you’d like to hear of a solution?”

_Run, little star. Get somewhere safe._

The message chimed on his lock screen, and Noct took a deep breath. Ardyn was standing there, knowing smirk on his features. The portrait he had stopped at was his own— an ancient king with no name, struck from history for betrayal. Noct powered down the phone; “Tell me.”


	6. The Garden Benches

“There’s no such thing as immortality, Noct,” Nyx sighed as he settled down into the grass of the gardens— the outer walls were higher than he remembered, the paths more narrow, the greenery more lush. He settled beneath the awning of the little structure above a set of stone benches— not complete enough to be considered a proper gazebo, but still keeping to the delicate appearance. He never knew Noct actually liked the gardens; “just a really long, slow death.”

“It’s not about immortality,” Noct was laying on his back, stretched out along one of the benches that was definitely wider and longer here than it was in reality. One hand settled on the prince’s stomach, the other trailing down to the damp grass. Nyx had found him like this, lost in thought, sheltered from the drizzle and the cold air; “It’s about helping people.”

“By becoming a daemon?”

“I’d stay human.”

“Did he tell you that?” Nyx caught Noct’s hand before the swat could hit its mark. He smiled and leaned forward, not letting go of the prince’s hand. He had settled to face the benches, to watch Noct, to judge how far he was slipping; “You can help people in other ways. You have more power than most.”

“This would get rid of the Scourge, though.”

“For a time. And in another two millennium, it’ll be you telling some other kid with the right mix of blood and magic to take your place as a sacrificial lamb.”

“Aren’t you all about serving gods, hero?” Noct pulled his hand back, rested it on his stomach as well, closed his eyes as the rain eased and the fragrance of the flowers around them intensified for a moment. “Isn’t this just doing that?”

“For the right reasons, little star. The Lucian gods are not exactly the more inspiring out there.”

“Saving the world isn’t the right reason?”

“Not if it means losing you.”

“And why am I important? What can I possibly do that would be better than this?”

“Why should you die because your gods fucked up two thousand years ago?” Nyx fell back with a groan, making a face as he listened to the ebb and flow of the rain against the roof above them and the paths around them. The air was cool, but not cold, the weather was manageable. Comfortable. Nyx was starting to worry. “You need to wake up soon.”

“I thought you said the rain meant I was in pain.”

“It does, but you’ll need to face it sooner or later.”

“It’s peaceful here.”

“That’s why you need to wake up. Too much peace is bad. You’ll get lonely here.”

“You’re here.”

“Right now, yeah,” Nyx dug his phone out of his pocket and sat up again. He could see the Wall well above them between breaks in the clouds if he wanted to look, if he wanted to judge just how heavy or light the rain should be. If he wanted to get a better sense of where the prince should be in this battle between worlds. He opened up the photos and handed the device to Noct. “Here.”

“What’s this?” 

Nyx had secreted photos at first, a careful pick that might be used to reconnect Noct to the real world, to the situation at hand. Pictures of himself in the hospital bed, of his friends nearby. It was Prompto who caught him first, who asked first, who believed him first. Who started to help as soon as he knew what was going on. Most of the pictures were simple things, the view from the room— lower than the Citadel, but facing the sunrise— Prompto’s selfies and the food smuggled in. There were pictures of Iggy with his coffee and Gladio with his books, both attempting to look stern but the hint of familiar smiles still there, still captured by Prompto. 

Noct smiled as he scrolled through them, stopping on one or another for longer than normal; “They’re okay.”

“They’re worried about you.”

“You said I could text them…”

“You can try.”

“Will it work?”

“I got your text, didn’t I? Not that you listened to me, but I got it.”

“I was fine,” the phone was handed back and Noct let his hand fall to the grass by his side again, thinking. “Dad gave me a figurine once, last time I was hurt. It was Carbuncle. I think it helped.”

“It did, I’m the one who gave it to him.”

“Can you get it? Iggy knows where it is.”

Nyx smiled, setting the phone aside again. He took Noct’s hand, pressed a kiss to the prince’s knuckles in relief; “You do realise I can get you a new one?”

The rain stopped for a moment, the garden silent around them as Noct stared at him in confusion. “Did you just kiss me?”

“Not the first time, little star.”

“That last time was a game.”

“And this time?”

“I… Do you just kiss everyone?”

“Not everyone, and if a kiss to your hand makes you blush this much, sunshine, I’m a bit worried about what I can do to the rest of you,” Nyx laughed as Noct huffed and flicked at his nose. He reached over to stroke a hand through the prince’s hair; “I only kiss people I like.”

Their eyes met for a moment, a heartbeat, and Nyx could see the thoughts whirring through Noct’s mind as he tried to process the sudden affection, the confession. “You had better be this charming in real life.”

“Tenfold, I’m very suave.”

“Right.” 

“I’ll get you a Carbuncle figure.”

“Not a new one. I want my old one.”

“Why are you so demanding?”

“I’m a prince.”

“Brat.”

The smirk was welcome, familiar, and Nyx smiled in return. Even as Noct sat up on the bench, as he drew Nyx up to his level. As the touches and the prince’s breath ghosted over his lips. 

“I want to wake up. And you had better be there.”


	7. Training Rooms

Nyx knew from experience that dreamscapes changed the closer to waking someone was. Deep down, close to the peace and comforts of death as Noctis had been, the dreams were almost an exact mirror of reality— the grip of memory and shelter and the feel of a muted reality easing the transitions from life to death, and giving an injured dreamer more time with their cherished places and people. Nyx had seen it before; had failed before.

Selena had dreamed of the forest. 

His sister had dreamed of the bark that scraped her hands raw when she was young, and the flowers and blossoms that she used to braid into her own hair. She had dreamed of finding beads among the grass and had smiled as Nyx sat at her feet to let her work on his hair, but had ignored his warnings and guidance as she slipped further into the peace of the warm and bright forests free of Imperial invasion and bloody wounds. 

He was relieved when he followed Noct into the cavernous training rooms in the Citadel, and noted that the rooms were far larger than they ever could be in reality, in memory. He smiled as he saw stars shine in place of lights in the ceiling, as a waxing moon drifted across the dark stone high above them. “Don't remember these rooms being so pretty, little star.”

“I like them like this,” Noct was smiling, dragging Nyx in by the hand. “Far more interesting.”

Nyx grinned, the sky inside matched by the sky he could see from the tall windows he knew for a fact weren't in the real training rooms. The twin moons making lazy arcs together in the twinkling sky; “I can see why.”

“Good sign, right?”

“Very good,” the windows are still damp, but the sky was clear. “Definitely making progress, little star.”

Out in the real world, Nyx hadn't seen any improvement. There was still the steady pulse of heart and breathing and the too-white sheets surrounding pale skin. He had stood guard as the king took time most days to visit, to worry over his son, to ask Nyx for updates with tired, old eyes. Nyx had anxiously played with his phone as Iggy delivered the well worn little figurine to Noct’s bedside table, as Prompto rested against the bed with stacks of magazines about fishing and chocobos and photography. 

In the real world, it felt like Noct was slipping away.

Here, he had to smile at the excitement and energy of the prince. Here, he could see the strangeness of a dreamscape twisting and melding and forming around as the prince kept exploring and moving and searching for whatever trigger he needed to wake up. Here, he could see why Carbuncle liked Noctis. 

Once in the room, beneath the stars and moon and with water still streaming down the windows to obscure the night sky outside, Nyx pulled Noct to him. He pulled out of the prince’s grip and moved to rest his hands on a slender waist instead. 

“Are you this affectionate with everyone?” Noct still smiled, still let himself be pushed and pulled and moved until his back was against a stoney pillar. Nyx trapped him there, grinning in return.

“Only with those I really like.”

“So when I wake up?”

“Are you questioning my honour?”

“Yes,” Nyx had expected Noct to shy away from his touch, to blush and stammer and try to redirect it. He had expected the pretty little Lucian prince to push him away and question his intentions. He hadn't expected to be pulled in and kissed by lips he hoped were as soft, as bold, in reality as they were in Noct’s dreams. “But mostly just wondering if it's worth getting attached.”

“I'm not going anywhere, little star. Don't think I can if I tried.”

“How sweet.”

“I try.”

Noct’s laugh was intoxicating, and Nyx couldn't resist kissing again, tracing jaw and throats with his lips. “If you'll have me, Noct, I want to taste you when you're awake and better. I want to stay with you.”

“You're an idiot if you think I'm letting you go.”

He wanted to stay like this for as long as possibly; he wanted to see Noct like this back home— beneath the stars and laughing. 

Both of their phones buzzed in unison, a small emoji and series of hearts appearing as a familiar little creature joined them. Carbuncle greeted them with a soft noise and Nyx would have been insulted by the way Noct pushed him aside for the little Astral if he wasn't expecting it. He laughed as Noct scooped the Astral into his arms, and the dark stone around them seemed a little brighter.


	8. The Sky Walk

The Citadel’s Sky Walk had been opened to the public in some capacity for just over two centuries, Noctis knew. He had the history lessons of the building, the regime, the dynasty he was a part of piled on to him by Iggy for years. He had been taken up to the narrow strip of open-air balconies plenty of times by his father, by guardians, by Iggy, to look over the expanse of the Crown City . He had marvelled appropriately at the sight of the every growing, ever crowded city as the winds whipped at him until his eyes stung and the sun gleaming off the polished building made gave him a headache. He had nodded at all the right pauses in the lessons, at all the moments when some new structure or some important landmark was being pointed out. He had never asked why they couldn’t just visit the place instead of marvel at it from afar. 

His father had seemed to enjoy the Sky Walk, Noctis enjoyed the time with his father. 

“Never actually saw this view at night,” Noctis said as he heard familiar boots on the wet stones. He smiled as Nyx greeted him by placing a hand on his back, he leaned forward on the high railing, rested on his elbows and felt the now-familiar touch follow as he leaned forward. “I think I like it better.”

“It’s definitely one of the better views,” Nyx agreed as he moved to rest against the rail as well— elbows on the wide stone, but back to the city as he looked over Noct instead; “Even better like this.”

The Glaive grinned as Noct smiled and huffed out a laugh at the ridiculousness of the line. “That was bad, hero.”

“It did its job,” he offered a small shrug, still grinning. “Any luck?”

“Not yet, Carbuncle’s put up some barriers of his own though,” Noctis looked Nyx over, didn’t try to hide the way he took in the other’s man. “You don’t wear your uniform where you don’t think there’s trouble. It’s always the same shirt and jeans.”

It was. Nyx had set outfits formed through years of training, practice, testing his Astral-granted abilities back in the comforts of his own home. Back when he learnt that Libertus once dreamt about the river and mountain trails more than the kitchen he practically grew up in; when he learnt that Crowe’s dreams had once been full of daemons and fires before he learnt to ease her into safe treehouses and mysterious caverns. Back then, he learnt that some clothes were more powerful as symbols, as indicators of his intentions. Uniforms came later, when he wore his like a second skin and guided friends from battlefields in their own minds and back to safe homes and better memories. It came when he needed to be something other than the friend. 

For some, like Luche and Tredd and Pelna, him showing up to save the day even in dreams became something that just wasn’t talked about.

He rather liked the leather jacket for this outfit though. He had always thought it made him look a bit roguish. “Got a problem with me being comfortable, your highness? It’s cold up here.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Had no idea. No one’s ever told me,” another grin before he closed his eyes and tilted his face towards the stars above, barely broken by the clouds and the steady mist of drizzle. “You know it’s going to hurt like hell when you wake up, right?”

“That’s supposed to encourage me?”

“Yup. It’s going to remind you what feeling good is like too. None of this muted shit that happens in dreams.”

“You’re really not good at this.”

“I’m the best at this.”

Noctis could see the shadows moving through the streets, the lights flickering on throughout the city so far below. He could see the lights chasing away the creatures he had seen at the gates, and could see the zipping, glowing streak of Carbuncle’s light clearing the streets, drawing back signs of life. He remembered that light from when he was a child, when a daemon clawed it’s way out of the plaza in front of the Citadel steps. He remembered the way he froze until his sword suddenly became more than a toy and the small creature let real power seep into him. 

“The lights are coming on.”

“Anything stand out?”

There were buildings, of course. Noct could see his apartment. He shouldn’t have been able to, but it seemed like he could make out the shadows of his friends in his living room, on his balcony. He could see Prompto as if he was just a few feet away, laughing as he leaned back just like Nyx and basked in the lights streaming out of the living room. He could picture Iggy finishing up in the kitchen, a new concoction for them to try while Gladio switched out cans of Ebony for bottles of beer. He could see his friends laughing and waiting, and getting ready for one of their nights spent playing games and watching bad movies. 

There was a district barely illuminated in the distance— not as clear or precise as the apartments around them. He could see Glaives walking the streets decorated with colourful strips of flags and cloth, sun warm light coaxing them into restaurants and bars as much as the music made them dance together. He saw faces and people he remembered from the official inspections— the decorated mages, the shy warriors who didn’t like to meet his eyes despite being taller than him— the exotic braids and tattoos and too-quick grins that reminded him of Nyx. That were Nyx when he couldn’t see the individuals clearly. 

There were cars again, in place of the daemons and beasts— flowing through the streets like rivers. The noise of horns and engines drifting up on the winds sounding far too much like the steady pulse of a city. The mechanical pulse of a machine. 

He closed his eyes to shut out the noise. And nearly jumped as Nyx took his hand. “Don’t close it out, little prince. If you hear something that shouldn’t be with what you’re seeing, focus on it.”

“It’s weird.”

“You’re inside your head, of course it’s weird. Focus on it.”

Noct tried, he could hear the thrum of energy around him— feel a steadier drip than the one from the rain. He watched his friends again; the distance was nothing now, he may as well have been on the balcony next to Prompto. 

“Hey, buddy,” Prompto was still smiling at him, and the stone of the Citadel was traded for the glass and concrete of his apartment. Nyx was smiling, and no one acknowledged the Glaive hanging out with them; “It’s starting to get boring without you around.”

“Sorry…” Noct straightened, trying to catch up with where the conversation had gone, confused by the one-sidedness of the tone. 

“Hey,” Gladio pressed a bottle to Prompto’s hand, “lighten up. He’s going to make it, you know that.”

Nyx was grinning, looking positively thrilled with Noct’s confusion. “This is good.”

“I know, I know,” Prompto stared at the bottle in his hands before he opened it, before it hissed like a soda, rather than a beer. “He’s too stubborn to not pull through. But… What if there’s something wrong? Can he even hear me?”

“He’d appreciate your visits, Prompto,” Iggy offered from the kitchen, and Noct could smell the sweetness of whatever he had been making. He could practically taste the warmth and sweetness of the tarts his friend had been spending years trying to work out for him. “You being here is enough.”

For a moment, Noct’s head swam— he could see his friends, standing in a sterile room. He could see the soda in Prompto’s hand as he sat in one of the awkward plastic chairs pulled in from a hallway to accommodate the irregular visitor. He could see Iggy, container in hand as he offered baked goods between them. He could see Gladio, resettling in one of the few padded chairs in the corner with a book and drink. He could see the sterile white and blues and strange colours that seemed unique to these sorts of rooms. For a moment, he could see the shadow of Cor at the door, standing watch, and hear the steady hum of machines spitting out numbers that made no sense to him just yet. 

And like the visions before, the room shuddered and changed, and suddenly he was back in the warm lights of the apartment, his friends still around him. “No! How do I get back? That was real, wasn’t it?”

“You’re almost there, little star.”

“How do I get back? I want to get back.”

Noctis didn’t realise how shaken he was until Nyx was holding him, until he was pulled close and gripping onto the Glaive’s shirt. Until he was taking a shuddering breath as his friends’ voices faded, but they kept moving around him, kept arguing about movies and games and what to do without him there. 

“This wasn’t it, little star. This wasn’t the way back.”

“But I was there.”

“You were seeing it. You weren’t actually there.”


	9. Focus

“The gods came with the people,” Nyx said as he climbed over the gate, eyeing the street for any sign of a threat. The bars were thicker than in reality, but the gates by the guard booths were not particularly tall— there was no sting of magic or threat of a slipped grip and a steep fall here. He caught Noct as the prince followed, eased the younger man to the ground with hands on his waist. In full uniform for this excursion out to the city streets, Nyx pressed a kukri into the younger man’s hand before the world fully opened up around them. “Carbuncle was already here by the time I got here.”

“To Lucis, you mean.”

“Of course. Now what did that chancellor actually say?” The shimmer or protect spells still moved through the empty streets, tracing the trail of soft red light left by the small Astral in its wake. The sounds of traffic could still be heard— the cars and trucks, the engines and movements as city life ebbed and flowed like the beat of a heart and the flow of blood in the distance— but the streets remained empty as far as either of them could see. 

“That this way lies a ‘certain death,’” Like in the cavernous halls the Citadel had become, Noct’s footsteps echoed in the dark. He could see the lights flicker on around them, promise a familiarity and life to the streets if they just kept going. He could hear the traffic and the people and the distant music and chatter that threatened to distract him off his chosen task. He could hear the rush of life returning to night-dark streets as the advertisements and signs flickered to glaring, neon life. Around them, the world had widened to reflected flashes of rain striking the Wall but not the city itself— the concrete and steel around them wet and shining in the damp. 

Nyx fell into step at Noct’s side, coat decorations and beads in his hair taking on the light cast by the protect spells around them. The kukri in his hand shining as he followed the prince through the wet shadows and towards the bridge that led out of the city’s royal heart. “And then he started talking about immortality and making oaths to Bahamut, right?”

“It’s still not a bad idea.”

“It’s a terrible idea.”

“I take on the Scourge, the world is safe.”

“You become a very public, ultimately useless sacrifice, and watch everyone else die,” Nyx jumped to the barrier between road and grass area— the small strips of green still dotted around the city. He had expected Noct to want to go to his apartment, to the arcades and restaurants, to the safe little places around the city that had been his haunts with his friends. Noct had told him about the bookstore he liked to go to with Gladio, to whine about being dragged into but how much Gladio seemed to see through the protests. He told him about the little pedestrian mall not far from Iggy’s place that doubled as a market, and how they would sample street food from various vendors while watching people move around them. Noct had told him about the arcades Prompto loved, and the flashing lights and cheerful noises as they challenged each other to high scores. Nyx had expected Noct to want to go to those places first; “This is the right way, little star?”

“Should be,” Noct hopped the barrier, pausing as the air seemed to change immediately. As if became crisp and cool, as dew wet their boots from the grass, as impossible trees seemed to close them off from the streets. “It’s still not a bad idea. At least everyone else would be safe.”

Nyx steadied Noct on the dew-slick grass as they approached the edge of the cliffs that really should have been further away. But now, standing on the grass, looing over the wide river and the cityscape beyond, it was like staring off the edge of the world. “For how long? In two thousand years, it could just come back again, and you’re harassing some new kid to take your spot. It’s not a solution.”

The ravine wasn’t normally visible from the Citadel, but Nyx had seen it as Noct talked about it. He could picture the river that circled the city heart, the steep edges and ridges and winding dangerous paths a prince as sheltered and secluded as Noct shouldn’t know about. Nyx had seen the green leaves and grass, and small persistent wildflowers as Noct told him about the excursions out to the river itself, fishing rod and tackle in hand. Noct had told him about the place— the calm of it, the peace of it— as they lounged on the prince’s bed, playing with their phones and revelling in each other’s easy company as the storm alternated between beating the dark stone of the Citadel into submission and coaxing Noct to the windows with light, rhythmic tapping against the glass. Noct spoke over the bright noises of conquest and victory as they challenged each other and tried to think of where Noct might feel safest now that he was no longer a child. Now that the Citadel was clearly not the destination they needed. Now that it was clear that the sense of pain and foreboding and loss had seeped into every stone and road and piece of gilded metal around his childhood home. Now that the closest they had come was a vision of the waking world. 

Noct had said he wanted to go fishing. 

The trees rose above them, around them and the sounds of the streets vanished into the distance. The dark should have been more complete, more absolute, but they could see the moon and the threat of dawn on the horizon. Noct moved through the strange wooded area easily, picking out a path Nyx hadn’t even seen cut into the grass and ground and stone of the ridge. The roads should have been steeper, more treacherous, a sheer ridge rather than this gentle climb down. They should have been scrambling to catch on to trees to ease the passage, kicking up debris and the undergrowth in the their wake as they struggled to stay upright. Noct should have been leaning against the trees, palms scraped raw as he tried to slow a hazardous descent over rocks and broken branches and dead leaves. 

They should not have even be able to see the paths for the fog rising from the wide river below. 

It should not have been as calm and quiet as it was. As peaceful as it was. 

“Almost there,” Noct said as the threat of dawn started to break and the river below was suddenly glittering in the new light. As the birds Nyx had been vaguely aware of a moment ago were suddenly louder, more vivid, in the branches above them with their song. 

“You know I’m supposed to be leading you, right, your highness?”

“I told you, you’re not very good at this.”

“Brat. Why this place?”

“I used to sneak out here with Iggy and Gladio. And by ‘sneak’ I mean tell Iggy about it a few days in advance so he could prepare anything we needed,” Noct smiled back at Nyx as he pushed past the last of the wooded area and stepped out to the river bank— to the rocky shore and the golden water. As the birdsong dulled to just the sound of rolling water and soft splashed, of soft rain breaking the surface of a wide river, and the wind moving through the branches behind them. 

The pier jutted out over the water from the stone it was anchored on, lazy waves lapping at the weather worn and cracked edges of the old wood. The fog and mist curled up in wisps despite the drizzle around them, burned away by the sunlight starting to edge through the city and over the water. There were shadows of fish beneath the water, hungry mouths catching at bubbles and insects, and Nyx paused as Noct pressed forward. “Dawn was always the best time to fish.”

Regis was there, settled on one of the folding chairs collected by the edge of the water, at the end of the pier. The familiar cane propped up against the edge of the chair as the king— the father— turned to greet them both with a smile. 

Noct paused before he approached; “I always hoped dad would catch us as we left. I always took the long way past his rooms, his study. I always wanted to ask him to come.”

“Noct…” Nyx stepped back, stayed among the undergrowth to watch, “Be careful.”

“Careful?” Noct scoffed as he stepped towards Regis, smiling as he saw the pair of rods already settled into the notches at the end of the pier. “It’s just dad.”

“Be careful.” Nyx let himself hold back as the scene became more vivid, more real. He could smell the water, hear the breaking of the waves as the hungry fish bit and jumped at the surface for prey. He could hear the leaves moving in the wind above him, the distant sounds of the traffic too muted to cut into the peace of the morning around them. “It’s not real, Noctis.”

“I’m supposed to be finding my dad.”

“You’re supposed to be finding a way to wake up. This is just a dream.”

“I always wanted dad to be here with me. At least to sit and talk, even if he didn’t fish…” 

Nyx remembered Selena, remembered the way she had laughed as her dream became more and more real to her. He remembered the way she had begged Nyx to stay with her, to let her braid his hair one more time as they rested in the clearing beneath the ruins of their abandoned treehouse just out of view of their parents’ home. He remembered the way she had smiled, and laughed off his concerns, the way she slipped from him as the dream became more tempting than reality. As the grass became softer and the sun became warmer around them. “Noct, don’t get lost in this. Stay with me.”

“It’s just dad.”

“You can see him when you wake up. He’ll be there when you’re awake.”

“He’s here now.” 

The oddest thing about the dreams was that time moved differently; Regis was there, smiling to his son, beckoning him closer as Noct had always hoped for. It wasn’t the king waiting so patiently for acknowledgement and attention, it was the doting father with sad eyes and a stubborn streak that could put Noct’s own to shame. It was Regis settled in that folding chair that would have played hell with his back and knee in real life; it was Regis, waiting for his son for once— waiting to share a moment that could stretch on forever. 

And Nyx knew that this was going to hurt. He reached out for Noct, pulled him away from the vision, the peace; “It’s not real, little star. If you focus on this, you’re going to lose him forever.”

“I just want—”

“I know.”

“He was always—”

“I know, Noct. I know,” and Nyx pulled Noct away— started with an firm grip to his wrist, and then an arm around his shoulders to pull the younger man close— turned him away from the look of heartbreak on his father’s features, away from the sting of rejection that passed through the king’s eyes. He dropped the kukri into the grass and covered Noct’s eyes with his hand. “Focus for me, little star. I need you to focus on what’s out of place.”

“Nyx, I need to see him.”

“When you’re awake, sunshine.”

Around them, the rain started fresh. It started to pour again, the dawn broke and the thunder shattered the silence of the ravine around them again. “What if he’s not there?”

“He will be.”

Nyx felt the prince’s hands fist in his jacket, felt the tug as the temptation to rush to his father washed away with the renewed storm. As the wall of rain dropped around them, broke the vision apart save for Carbuncle’s little thread of ruby light that had tied the dream together before it could fully unravel into something worse than chaos and isolation. “I’ll be there, little star. I’ll be there.”

In the beat and thrum of the rain, Noct could hear the steady hum of machines. In the grey light of his rainy vision, he could sense the equally grey dawn outside of wide, square window. His hands closed tightly around the decorations on Nyx’s jacket as he tried to focus— tried to fight to at least stay with what was familiar. He glanced back to the pier, to the shadow of his father waiting in the downpour, and gasped as Nyx kissed him. The shock between the vision and the feel of Nyx’s lips, of his hands, the Glaive’s frame against his jolting him out of the storm. 

Noct opened his eyes to the dimmed lights of a hospital lamp on across the room— the whiteness of the light against the grey of the morning outside the open curtains still harsh to his eyes as he saw it for the first time. He tried to draw in a deep breath, groaning at the itch of wires in his arm as they moved with him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow dart from the room, and realised a moment too late that it was Ignis ducking out into the hallway. 

“Hey!” Prompto was at his side, a hand on his arm to hold him still, “Noct! Hey, buddy. Iggy’s just gone to find someone, okay. You with me?”

“Prom?”

“Yeah. Hi.”

“Heard you, you know.”

“Don’t worry about that, okay? Just sit tight a minute, Iggy’ll be back any minute.”

“Dad?”

He felt more than saw Gladio approach the other side of the bed, tried to take a deep breath again before the pain of it made his lungs burn and his ribs ache. He felt his Shield’s— his friend’s— hand on his hair a moment, a reminder to stay still in the bed. “He’ll be here soon, Noct.”

“Nyx?” Noct swallowed the disappointment, tried to focus on where he was, on what was going on. On the movement and the shapes around him in the harsh light, in the ache and biting pain barely dulled by the drugs dripping into his system. 

“Right here, your highness,” Nyx settled at the doorway as the nurses rushed in, as the chaos started around him, as the others were pushed to the side and a doctor called in to attend.


	10. The Citadel

“So you can cook,” Noct said once he was back home; once he was deemed far enough out of danger to be released from the hospital and into the care of his friends and guardians. He had hoped to return to his apartment for the last of his recovery— had hoped for the comforts of his own bed and sofa and home. 

“I’m not just a pretty face, sunshine,” Nyx fell onto the bed next to him, ignoring the wary looks of Gladio and Iggy as he settled into the spot that he had claimed when visiting Noct’s dreams. 

The flurry of activity started soon after Noctis woke up properly. There were days of having people come and go— of friendly doctors and friendlier nurses coming into the room every few hours to check on him, of Cor coming in before taking a shift on duty himself, of his friends coming and going and worrying as he tried to sleep— before he was deemed ready to be released. His father had come by the sterile room, banishing everyone else out for a few moments of peace with his son. They were just short visits— quick check-ins, updates, promises— but Regis had listened with rapt attention and a mischievous smile as Noct described meeting Nyx in his dreams, of the adventure of it, the strangeness of it, at the haunting emptiness of the Citadel. 

When Noct was released to the care of the Citadel, it was with little fanfare. It was at Regis’ insistence, and it wasn’t confirmed to any of the Crown media until Noct was already settling back in his old rooms. Iggy had spent the days leading up to the release filling him in on the fall of Niflheim— on its retreat and fortifications as several leaders struggled for power over the once-indomitable empire. Some travelled to the brutalised territories of Galahd and Cavaugh, others faced resistance in Tenebrae and Accordo as they took advantage of the chaos to declare their own sovereignty. There was a vacuum left by the fallen Emperor, and the disappearance of the Chancellor had left the rest of the powerful country at a loss. 

Noct had asked Iggy to make an official appointment to meet with the Council, not just his father. There were territories that needed the help of Lucis now that it could bolster its own support. 

“The pretty face helps, though,” Prompto had barely left Noct’s side during the trip back to the Citadel. An unofficial ‘guard’, Cor had insisted on giving Prompto basic clearance to come and go as he pleased without a security check each time. It was a privilege both he and Noct were using liberally to bring in the sort of indulgences found only in corner stores and and through street vendors. He had eked out a regular spot on the overstuffed, far-too-soft bench at the foot of Noct’s bed, where he and Noct could stretch and face each other as they challenged each other to shared games. “I mean, you are really pretty for a Kingsglaive.”

“I’m keeping you around,” Nyx offered Pompto the first pick of the food he had brought in, grinning as Noct rolled his eyes and locked his phone. 

“My flatterer, hero. Comes with the position.”

“Tough, I like him.”

Prompto laughed, “Plenty of me to go around.”

Iggy approached to examine the offered meal— the familiar blend of spice and meat and steam still fresh in Noct’s mind from the dream of Nyx moving around effortlessly in his kitchen. “I could devise a custody schedule. What is this, Ulric?”

“If it has a name, I don’t know it,” Nyx confessed, separating a portion of the meat and vegetables for Noct onto one of the disposable plates he had brought in before letting Iggy take the container from him. 

Nyx had been waiting at the Citadel on duty when Noct was brought back. He had smiled and waited until his shift had ended before he slipped into the rooms properly from his post to check over the prince he had dragged from the edges of death. It had taken hours of explaining and retelling and proving the small details they had talked about in dreams, to calm Noct’s friends’ confusion after he had pulled the Glaive into a kiss. It had taken hours of rationalising before Gladio just shrugged off the sudden addition of a royal boyfriend as one of Noct’s quirks; before Iggy had seen enough of their comfort around each other to judge Nyx safe; before Prompto stopped grinning and asking for stories from the dreams, had crowed about it being the kiss of a dashing knight to break a spell. But Noct understood that it had taken six hours from when the dream ended to when he woke up— six hours of struggling to get back on his own once the dream was shattered, of focusing on the strangeness of feeling pain and light and the presence of others around him again after so much of feeling nothing. 

Noct was certain none of them actually believed the strange situation— the reality of Carbuncle, Nyx’s own abilities to visit, the deals offered by Ardyn— but they had accepted it, and that was enough. 

And with his friends close by, and Nyx’s warmth next to him on top of the covers of the bed, Noct felt like he could finally relax. There were no doctors or nurses coming in every few hours to disturb him, no change of guard in alien hallways, no constant hum and beat and pulse of machinery or voices drifting and echoing through too-bright hallways. Instead, his room was bright with the sunlight through the tall windows of his childhood room, filled with the chaos of his friends and the noise of television and games between them.

While it wasn’t quite the same as being in his apartment, out of sight of the Citadel’s controlling eye, it was home enough. 

“Let’s see how good you are outside of your head, little prince,” Nyx said as he fished his phone from his pocket— dressed down in jeans and a tshirt now that there was another guard on duty outside. 

“What are we playing for?”

“A kiss.”


End file.
